


Without a parachute

by Nemamka



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Angst, Blow Jobs, Character Study, Christophe Giacometti & Victor Nikiforov Friendship, Crying, Crying Victor Nikiforov, Cuddling, Depression, Hand Jobs, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Pre-Series, Smut, before Yuuri, victor nikiforov human disaster
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-04
Updated: 2017-07-04
Packaged: 2018-11-23 11:17:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11401413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nemamka/pseuds/Nemamka
Summary: The best of friends are the ones who say "no" to you when you're actually stupid.Sometime before Yuuri. :]Smut and crying. Soft, loving men. BFFs.((It started out as self-indulgence and then I made myself sad by my own character HCs for these idiots so it actually became angsty, I'm sorry.))





	Without a parachute

“Tell me what you want, Viktor.” 

He plants a soft kiss on his collarbone. Viktor gulps.

“I want you to take my mind off of things. I want to forget.” 

Another behind his ear. Viktor tips his head and closes his eyes, the hotel room disappearing in front of him.

“Mm, what things?” 

There’s that deep, lewd purring sound he makes, familiar, Viktor has heard it before. He isn’t sure how many times he would be able to, though. He doesn’t know which one will hit first; his own guilt, or everybody finally being too annoyed with his way of dealing.

But right now he’s there for Viktor, offering, as always. Standing close enough to feel his body heat and catch his perfume. Kind hands run up Viktor’s naked sides from his hips, the touch light and slow. 

“Mm, everything,” Viktor tries to mirror the coy smile he knows the man is wearing. 

“Nnno, Viktor,” he mumbles, and licks upwards from the crook of Viktor’s neck. His thumb circles one of his nipples, making it harden, and Viktor breathes in deep. “I will give you this, but I need you to talk. Spill it.” 

When he draws back, Viktor looks into the green eyes. No, no, the green eyes look into _his_ and they know, and _shit_ , it’s so cringe-worthy how well they know, Viktor almost winces. But Chris also knows just how slow exactly he needs to run his palm down Viktor’s abdomen to make his mouth fall right open in a gasp. He grabs his arms in a sudden reflex to hold onto something—and his friend is his best option. 

“I…” 

Chris nods, encouraging him to go on, and strokes him through the only layer of fabric Viktor waited for him in. By undressing in advance he was honest, not desperate; but now he is becoming just that. Painfully aware of the fact that he needs to speak for his own good, he’s unusually tense, trying not to rut into Chris’s hand. Trying not to take more than he feels their friendship deserves losing. 

“Go on.” 

He swallows when he receives kisses on his chest, one, then two, then more, tender, lower on his belly, then hot and wet, and yet an inch closer to the rim of Viktor’s briefs, and Chris doesn’t exactly slip out of his hold, but he does sink onto his knees, grabbing Viktor’s hip and thigh, nose close to navel. 

“Vikt _ooor_.” 

He buries his face in his hands, yet he’s loud and clear.

“I want out.” 

Lips run along his shaft. He shivers, and moans into his own skin. 

“Good. More.” 

“I want to… to stop and think.” 

Chris frees him from his underwear, slipping the stretchy hem from his ass first, then lifting it over his hard-on, and sliding it off his legs. He kisses at Viktor’s base, pretence laziness in the movement.

“And…?” 

“And I want… I want people to let me. I want them to leave me a… _hah_ … alone…” 

Chris takes his erection into his fist, and licks around the tip. Viktor drops his hands on his shoulders. The eyes that meet his are about to burn a hole into his soul. That long tongue never leaves his cock when Chris says “And?” one more time before slipping his lips right up on Viktor. 

He was so ready for this. Hyped, even. His body reacts eagerly, he wants to seek out that pleasure fast, heated, layered; and yet he knows, he just knows, this is not a five minute thing. He knows this is a long therapy session. He also knows that’s exactly what he needs, but god, Chris is _warm_ and _skilled_ and… Slightest touch of teeth teases his mind back onto track. Slows him down. Eases into tame indulging. 

“I _ah_ … I wa… I want to stop skating. But I don’t know what to… to do or… h-how. Becoming a c… _hah_ … a coach is … is obvious for some… _nnngh_ … but it’s scary…” 

And Chris keeps moving, god bless him, he keeps moving back and forth, whatever he might be thinking of Viktor’s decisions, he doesn’t judge, he doesn’t miss a heartbeat, he just gives what he promised to give for honest words uttered. His tongue circles in ways that don’t leave Viktor nearly enough time to catch his breath, sucking with an intensity that is entirely unfair, letting Viktor clutch his shoulders as hard as he wants as he tries to keep his knees from buckling. 

When he feels the hot waves connect from his sunken heart to the base of his spine, he speaks again. 

“I want you to stop…” He blurts out, squeezing his eyes shut, doing his best not to fall apart. Chris obeys immediately, though it doesn’t really make it easier now to avoid bad decisions. Viktor sighs as if it were his last sane breath. “I want… I want you to fuck me hard.”

Silence draws while he’s panting. Chest flushed and heaving. Cock bobbing at the thought of _what now_. Uncertainty rising. 

“No.” 

He finds Chris looking up at him as stern as he never has before. 

“But… you said…” 

“I said no.” 

He stands up and once again he’s taller; and suddenly Viktor feels stupid, idiotically vulnerable, and almost betrayed. He fights and fights against it but… Christophe Giacometti has never said no to him before, regarding anything, and he’s surprised. He is childishly, arrogantly, egoistically flabbergasted. 

Is he really that dull _already_? Does no one want Viktor Nikiforov anymore? On or off the ice? Not even his best friend?

He was so not ready for this. It is happening too fast. He’s already fading, oh god, he _has_ had his session, and it's already been too long; he’s already being forgotten and hated and _boring_ and he recognized it all too late… 

Chris plants a soft kiss on his forehead. His thoughts slow down. He breathes. Panic and shame mix with trust. 

“Viktor.” 

He makes him walk backwards, pushing him gently on his chest, staying close, their noses almost touching. Viktor sits down on the bed and Chris climbs behind him, pulling him into his lap, arms around his sides. A kiss on his neck. Caring. Safe. 

“Do you want to finish?” 

And Viktor can’t not nod, still painfully aroused. He grinds his hips up involuntarily at the next first touch of long fingers at his base, and he’s done before he can think about the _why_ , by the thumb running across his slit and the hot exhales in his ear, arching back onto their owner who is regretfully unimportant for a blissful minute where he doesn’t even have to know who _he_ is. He’s not sure he wouldn't die trying to define that. 

He calms down but his friend doesn’t let him go. 

He brings a blanket around them and hugs Viktor as close and fond as he can to his own chest. He _lulls_ him, for Christ’s sake. He’s too good to Viktor. The tears fall on his arms instead of into Viktor’s lap. 

He’s broken now. It doesn’t matter. So he talks on. 

“I want to remember, Christophe… I want to remember what it was like, I want to remember everything, why is it so hard…”

He hangs onto the strong arms as if they could stop him from falling. Maybe they do. Maybe they are the last string. Chris leaves them loose just enough to let his sobs escape. 

“I don’t know, sweetheart. I don’t know. But I’m here to help. Okay?” 

Viktor grits his teeth and nods. And he knows. He knows he doesn’t deserve that kind of respect, he knows he should be more responsible than _to ask for what he can get_. 

 

That’s why he needs a best friend who's ready to jump into everything.

To stop him from doing just that, but without a parachute.


End file.
